We Fluff And We Smut
by Meowbowwow
Summary: A sweet no frills confession of love between our favourite pair, cuddle and fluff. Very explicit smut later, because everyone needs loads of sex after cuddling. It's the law. Tags: Dirty Talking, Anal Sex, Finger Fucking, Fluff
1. We Fluff And We Fluff A Lot

"Aren't you going to sleep, Sherlock?" John had woken up in the middle of the night to a very quiet 221B and as surprising as this may sound, it had been the quiet that had been the cause of it. It didn't worry him, there were always times when Sherlock just liked to lay around, he would drift out of his mind palace, talk to John when he wasn't even there, not talk to him when he was and go away as quickly as he had come. John missed the constant stream of comments as he watched some show that he had put on only because he knew Sherlock secretly enjoyed these moments where he could rip every scene apart and John would laugh that carefree laughter he thought he'd lost in the dust of Afghanistan.

The tinkling of test tubes and the simmering sounds of whatever Sherlock had in the microwave, even the rustle of his robe as he moved about in the kitchen, brewing thunderstorms and what not in his head, were a part of the air John breathed, as essential to him as his morning tea. And the sudden lack of the sound made him restless. He had walked down, wrapping the duvet on his arm, trying to locate the source of the lack of commotion.

"Sherlock?" He walked closer to the couch where Sherlock was sitting with his legs drawn up and his fingertips under his chin. John rubbed his eyes and sat at the far end of the couch, not saying anything, the quiet comfort of companionship between two people who knew each other as well as they knew themselves. And words seemed like white noise, unnecessary but there, transcended, gotten over with.

As John settled himself, Sherlock stretched his long legs and buried his toes under him. Without even thinking, John lifted the cold feet up and started rubbing the soles, spreading the duvet across his lap on both them. He pinched the webbing gently and Sherlock sighed. "Come here," John lifted the duvet and Sherlock moved across the couch to snuggle under it.

"Can't sleep," he mumbled as John started carding through his hair, the curly strands surprisingly soft as Sherlock let his head rest on his shoulder, humming with approval and closing his eyes. John continued running his hands through his hair, his fingers tracing the scalp in small circles, letting the thumb of his other hand graze the graceful cheekbones of the sleepy face. "What would you do without me, Sherlock..." John sighed against the hair and planted a small kiss on top of his head. "Nothing, I would do nothing," Sherlock mumbled, burrowing his nose in John's t-shirt as John caressed his cheek and swept the hair off his face. "And what if I go away? To live with Sarah or some other woman. Then? Who will take care of you...when I'm not here?" he kissed his forehead and waited for the reply.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up, his eyes big, reflecting the gentle play of the traffic that was his mind. They were vulnerable but not scared. He looked at John for a few seconds, or were they minutes? After an age, he broke the gaze and wrapped his arm around him, his face in the crook of John's neck as he whispered,"I...don't know. Are you planning to live with Sarah?" His lips lingered inches away from John's pulse, indecision fluttering in his own, and then he closed the distance, just resting them against the skin, memorising the feel of the slightly darker tone, the faint musk of John, the goosebumps standing out.

John heard a low whisper of "don't" and he probably would have missed it had he not been expecting to hear it. The arms drew tighter around him as Sherlock let his slightly chapped lips slide gently against his neck, tickling a little and then settling down, home at last. "I won't," he lifted Sherlock's chin up and kissed those gorgeous eyes once, twice.

"Sleepy," Sherlock tried to snuggle back under the chin but John pulled the duvet off them and made to get up. "In the bedroom, I don't want a back pain tomorrow. Come on," he pulled Sherlock up and they trudged to John's bedroom, Sherlock collapsing on the bed immediately, his face inside John's pillow. "mmm...shmells like you," came his muffled voice as John came out of the toilet.

He settled under the duvet, Sherlock pulling him against himself, tucking John's head under his chin and wrapping his arms around him, his hand settling in the nape of his neck, playing with the hair there. "John, are we together now?" Sherlock whispered as John was drifting off. John thought for a while. He supposed they were, they had always been, it had just been a matter of acknowledging it. And sleeping there in Sherlock's arms with his face in his neck, the smell of Sherlock and tea and tobacco in his nose and blissfully long fingers in his hair, he had to agree that, yes, they were together.

"Hmm, yeah, I suppose we are," he replied, putting his ear against Sherlock's chest and listening to the gentle beating of his heart. "Will you...you can still see Sarah, if you want..." his voice trailed away as he wrapped himself closer to John, almost daring him to leave.

Something ached in John's heart and broke into a million beats as he let himself be held close to Sherlock's chest. Had his previous lovers been like that? Seen other people when they were with Sherlock. Fools! John almost screamed with anger and then Sherlock's hands were back in his hair. The moment had passed and almost as if he had steeled his heart, Sherlock had assumed John's answer, prepared himself.

"Why would I want anyone else if I have you?" he drew back and looked up into the surprised eyes of a child. Yes, that's what he saw, not fear or pain but surprise and somehow, that made it ache all the more. He couldn't even watch it for long, the cogs of the brilliant mind turning almost audibly, every little creak visible in those eyes. And so, John kissed him. The angle was awkward, and his nose bumped against Sherlock's chin before their lips could brush in an almost chaste very awkward first kiss, too much teeth, too much tongue, no tongue, too wet. But it was perfect, in their little dysfunctional way, broken and untidy, messy and so John and Sherlock. So them.

"Oh, and by the way, you seem to be pretty liberal about me seeing others but let me tell you, you are absolutely not allowed to see anyone else." John wrapped himself possessively around Sherlock, a little exaggerated and dramatic perhaps, but Sherlock's chin rested on top of his head, a happy sigh escaping him, as John snuggled closer. At last as he whispered, "Never."

"Good, because," he kissed him on his apple. "You," another kiss on the collar bone as he helped Sherlock get his arm out of the gown. "Are," a small peck on the gentle dip of the throat, his tongue darting out to taste the pale skin. "Mine." a kiss on the chest as he settled his face against it.

"Hmmm, yours." Sherlock hummed as he let his heart flutter wildly at being wanted. And not by anyone but by John. He felt happier than he ever had, lighter, he could float away if John hadn't been holding onto him like that, like he was the most coveted thing in the world.

After a while, John turned around and Sherlock tucked himself behind him. He smiled as he could hear John's voice in his head, "It's called spooning, Sherlock. I'm the little spoon and you are the big spoon."

Silly adorable John who fought with him over the most weirdest of things. Strong John, as he shot the cabbie. John, the soldier, in Afghanistan. John, John, John. The smell of John, the sounds of John moving around in the kitchen, his warm eyes. His John, Sherlock's John. As Sherlock found himself waking up, the flicker of sunshine over his eyelids, he stretched his arms out but found the bed cold & empty. Oh gosh, had he dreamt it?

"Have to rush to the clinic, Sherlock," John pecked him on the lips, a second too long as Sherlock pulled him down and hiding his face in his neck. John's hair was still a little wet and Sherlock licked the back of it, savouring as he felt himself getting harder. "Mmm, not now, love. I'm getting late, but when I come back..." he got up and straightened his clothes, throwing an evil smirk towards Sherlock's tented pyjamas as he did so. "You're not really helping, you know," Sherlock complained, shoving his face in John's pillow angrily as John ruffled his hair playfully and left, screaming instructions for stuff Sherlock didn't care about.

As he heard the door close, the smell of John overwhelming him, doing nothing to help his aching hard on, he slipped his hands in his pants and started stroking himself gently, his mind humming 'John, John, John' with a fanatic fervour. John's strong hands wrapped around his erection as he thrusted inside him from the back. John was hard and wanting, demanding, not at all gentle. Sherlock took the tube from the bedside table and slicked his fingers with whatever he could squeeze out (John had been really busy presumably, he mused). He pulled his pants down and his erection jutted out obscenely as he inserted one finger inside himself and started moving, fucking himself, imagining them to be John's. And oh, his imagination supplied, John would have a filthy mouth in bed, an absolute opposite to his usual self. Gentle, well spoken John, who had held back with his girlfriends, would trust Sherlock, trust enough to let go of his inhibitions.

"You are such a slut for my cock, Sherlock," John's voice whispered in his ears and Sherlock pushed another finger in and gasped. He was surprised how much it turned him on, the very idea of John moaning in his ear as he stretched Sherlock open, drilled into him, not stopping, harder, harder, harder. Sherlock added a third one and reached out to brush against his prostate, and sweet lord in heaven, it was magnificent. If he closed his eyes, he could see John's triumphant expression of having seen Sherlock like this, just for him.

Sherlock took his fingers out and found his phone on the bedside table, John must have put it there before he left. He took his erection in his hand, his free hand trying to type a message. As John replied, he made a disappointed grunt and typed another one, his thumb running over the slit, spreading the pre cum once before the reply came again. He let his phone drop down with a face, typing in a last message. He was so close, so very close as he moved faster and harder, his hands aching a little. After what seemed like a blissful eternity, he came, his gasps dying in his throat as his mind blanked out of everything, every tiny thing mattered not in that one moment of peace and pleasure. As he felt the aftershocks die, he quickly grabbed a pair of tissues from the table and wiped the mess off himself and the sheets.

It had easily been the best wank of his life but he still felt unsatisfied, wanting more, wanting John. He groaned to himself as he found his phone again and began typing furiously, what was the man doing to him! Really, could he do this? Sexting and Sherlock, well well well.


	2. We Smut And We Smut A Lot

whr r u -SH

Are you okay, Sherlock? - JW

watz wrng wid me of cors im ok, r u thinking abt me - SH

Why are you typing like that? Did you burn your hand? - JW

Sherlock, you there? - JW

SHERLOCK, ARE YOU OKAY? - JW

Jesus, I'm coming - JW

No u arnt bt i am hnnnng -SH

:? - JW

Where are you, John? - SH

What was all that? - JW

Nothing, masturbating. And I hate to repeat my question - SH

Working - JW

Come home - SH

6 hours - JW

I'm going to die in 6 hours - SH

Great, I'll throw that green mould out of the kitchen then - JW

I thought you were more sentimental than that - SH

What? - JW

I thought you'd keep the mould, given that it was my last experiment and everything - SH

-_- What do you want? I have a patient in 2 minutes - JW

I really want you right now ;) - SH

Emoticons don't suit you. G2g, bye - JW

John, I mean it - SH

John - SH

JOHN! - SH

Take another wank. I'm busy and I'm too tired so I might just be dead when I come home - JW

I don't want to "take another wank". I want to take a John :D - SH

And I know you aren't tired, you didn't even have that many patients today. I am guessing 2 so far - SH

You're just being a tease - SH

I finished all the lube. Bring some on your way back - SH

Raspberry - SH

Or wait, don't bring the lube, I like it without it - SH

And you, your taste, overwhelming, musk and you. Always you. Forever you - SH

I love you too, idiot - JW

So, you coming home? - SH

John, I am so hard - SH

Shut up - JW

I am. This is the second time I'm "wanking" - SH

Good for you - JW

And I'm thinking about you - SH

I would hope so - JW

Would you like to see me? - SH

No - JW

Bye then - SH

Ok, yes - JW

No - SH

Sherlock had been right about one thing in that painful conversation - John wasn't tired. Dear god, he wasn't. Never for this, this sudden bout of Sherlockian horniness. All these months, he had imagined himself stroking that beautiful body, Sherlock's habit of roaming around semi naked not helping him at all. And then he had seen Sherlock and his lack of sexual interest and steeled himself that he might just have fallen for an asexual greek god. He sniggered to himself as he checked his phone for any new messages, Sherlock was sulking. John could almost see his lower lip pulled out in a characteristic pout and John stifled another snigger as he paid for the lube and got out. God, he loved to annoy Sherlock.

He couldn't find the mad detective on the couch when he came back home. "So, he really has been in the bedroom all this time" John couldn't help but feel a certain something run down his spine at the idea. He expected Sherlock to be naked, waiting for him, a begging mess, trying to make John pay for his rudeness earlier and oh, maybe he would put on a show to be a tease. And heavens knew that Sherlock would look good doing whatever he wanted to, the gorgeous bastard.

"Don't kiss me. Can't you see I'm busy?" Sherlock turned away from John and he planted another kiss on his neck. "Oh stop sulking, come here," John mumbled in his ear as Sherlock pulled the duvet over himself and crawled further away from him. He had his dressing gown on, the scarlet one and his graceful neck looked even more inviting now, begging to be licked and sucked all night long, marked for the world to see. Well, John knew that Sherlock could be really stubborn when he wanted to and John was pretty horny (thank you, brain), so he wasted no time in divesting himself of all his clothes, hoping that Sherlock would respond with at least a hungry gaze. But he had his back to him, so John jumped on the bed and pushed Sherlock on his back, straddling him, a triumphant expression on his face as he saw Sherlock's eyes travel down to his semi hard state.

"I don't want to, John," he said but licked his lips at the same time, looking away from John almost a little too quickly to be convincing, a little boy caught stealing a cookie. John bent down and kissed his neck that Sherlock had so offered him by turning his face away. "Mmm...you do know how much I love you like this, don't you? Of course, you do..." he placed an open mouthed kiss and started sucking gently at first but as Sherlock resolutely refused to react. "The things I'm going to do to you, Sherlock. All these months, I've wanked with my fist in my mouth, imagining you bending over every available surface in the flat and oh god, do you know what a perfect ass you have?" He bit Sherlock and started sucking harder, almost whimpering as he felt Sherlock's erection betraying him.

Of course, Sherlock felt it too. But he decided to ignore it. Ignore the ache to wrap his hands around John's body and relish the exquisiteness of skin on skin. Ignored the urge to wrap his legs around John as he thrust, oh god the man killed him, Sherlock just wanted John on him, anywhere. As the thought escaped his mind, John pulled the gown off his shoulders and Sherlock could feel him smirking. "Oh, that mark on you is fading already, now we wouldn't want that, would we, love?" he sounded so unlike himself, dark and teasing as his tongue licked over the barely noticeable mark on the clavicle, dipping ever so lightly, teasing with low sounds and licking audibly. "You are beautiful, Sherlock. So beautiful," John mumbled against his skin and Sherlock groaned involuntarily.

"Oh, you like me talking like this, do you? This is good, very good," John's voice was very soft as he continued kissing and travelled down Sherlock's chest, trying to cover every bit of flesh with a nip. "Can't believe that we didn't do this before, oh god Sherlock." When he mouthed the nipple, he knew Sherlock would give up and he did. With a grunt. Almost a growl. Deep and so very carnal. Sherlock had been clutching the sheets and twisting them so far but his hands found their way to John's back.

"No, hold the headboard. You touch when I tell you to. Clear?" John looked Sherlock in the eye, it was the same look he had given Sherlock when they had embarked on their first case, it was a blazing sort of John that came out only during the thrill of their cases. It was a John who didn't smell of tea but of gun powder and sweat. Sherlock nodded, his pupils blown wide and eyes wider as John hummed in appreciation, guiding his hands to the headboard.

And then he started his assault on the nipples, alternating between sucking, biting and licking. "Do you know what you do to me, texting me like that when you are taking a wank, when all I have been thinking is your boner nudging me in the morning." Bite. "All spread out on the bed with your fingers inside you and grunting, just for me." Suck. "How dare you tease me, Sherlock. I almost came with the mere idea of you thinking about getting fucked by me." Lick. And then John withdrew his mouth and saw Sherlock, head thrown back and eyes closed, hard under him, rocking ever so gently against him, gasping at the lack of contact. His eyes were closed like they always were when he had a sensory overload, when he wasn't thinking but lost in the sheer pleasure of it all.

He opened his mouth to say something but John cut his off by grabbing it in a heated kiss, this was no time for tenderness and Sherlock's mouth was heaven. "Your mouth, mine. Only mine. You don't open it to speak till I ask you to, understand?" Sherlock had John's lower lip between his and grunted a response. "mmm, you have the most sinful mouth, darling. It was almost made for my-" John stilled at Sherlock's expression, open mouthed and debauched, his lips swollen. John didn't talk like this, he didn't like to call people sluts and whores when he made out with them, especially not Sherlock. And yet, here he was, close to saying it and Sherlock looked ready to jump on him. He stared at John's mouth, as if trying to define the trajectory of the words even before they came out.

"It was almost made for my cock, oh god." Sherlock moved under him, thrusting & moaning with the friction, his eyes closed again. John let his hands play with the nipples as he lifted himself to pull Sherlock's pants down and lay next to him, turning him so that they were facing each other. Sherlock threw his leg over him and passed him the lube that he retrieved from under the pile of John's clothes by the bed. It was a silent request. "I love you like this. On my way back, I imagined you looking up at me as you sucked on my cock, begging for it, begging me to come in your beautiful mouth..." Sherlock gulped and rutted freely as John started slicking the fingers of his left hand and did the same to Sherlock's right one, smiling as he saw realisation dawn in those eyes and gave him a small kiss on the nose.

"Up, against the wall, now!" John's voice was commanding, harsh and Sherlock took a minute to process what he has said. He was leaking copiously and John had just asked him to stand against the wall. He tried to rut harder against John, as a silent plea and was rewarded with a smack on his ass. "No." John squeezed his ass as Sherlock pulled him in a kiss. As they started getting up and the kiss was reduced to a pair of lips, panting against each other, trying to get any amount of skin on skin, slurping obscene noises filled their heads until Sherlock felt the wall behind his back.

John broke the kiss and hooked Sherlock's right leg over his waist, his index finger circling gently along the entrance as Sherlock tried to push back, desperate. "Patience, darling..." John murmured against his ear as he rested his forehead Sherlock, standing close and guiding Sherlock's hand to his own entrance. Their erections looked slick even without lube and as John let his finger sink inside Sherlock, Sherlock did the same to him and they both moaned against each other. "John, please...more" Sherlock mumbled as he pushed his second finger in and John replicated the movement, slightly burning but relishing the pain as the long fingers started moving.

They fucked themselves on the fingers and thrust forward to frot against each other, their rhythms matched, unhurried but pleasurable. When John started scissoring his fingers, Sherlock pushed the third one in and brushed against John's prostate. "Oh god, oh god Sherlock..." John withdrew his fingers and Sherlock's hand was around him the next moment. "Do you want to finish like this?" Sherlock's voice was low against the thumping in his ears, growling, back in control. It would always be a race for control between them and although, John usually won, it was Sherlock's day today.

"I won't last long, darling," John kissed him again as they dropped on the bed and Sherlock lay down on his stomach, grinning as he pushed his ass up towards John, watching him lick his lips and lube himself up. John entered him, slowly at first, his hands on Sherlock's waist because he knew how impatient the man could be. When he was buried balls deep and Sherlock made an impatient movement, John drew back and jammed back in, silencing the detective for good.

"Oh god, John, yessssss, talk to me."

"Fuck, look at you, so tight. Just for me, Sherlock. Only me, yes?"

"Yes, oh god yes, only you, John."

"Mine, mine, only mine."

"Yes, yes, fuck, yes. No one but you."

"I'm very close, Sherlock. I want to see you first..."

"I'm going to come, John. Oh god..."

"Yes, come for me," John said, as he felt the muscles clench around him and Sherlock came on the sheets, a stream of oh-fucks on his mouth. In a few more thrusts, John was done too, coming harder than he had in a long long time.

He slowly drew out, trying to be as gentle as possible. Sherlock rolled onto the other side of the bed and pulled a very debauched John Watson in his arms, their breathing still hard, and cleaned them both using tissues from the bedside table. They lay there for what seemed like ages, spent and satiated, breathing in the smell of each other and the overwhelming smell of sex, until John broke the silence.

"Sherlock, you are glowing," he sniggered, watching Sherlock's lips quirk ever so slightly.

"Yeah, maybe I'm pregnant," he rolled his eyes as John made a face.

Sherlock slipped a pregnancy test strip inside John's newspaper the other day and John threw his bag of thumbs out. If people think that these two could ever change, they couldn't be more wrong. And over the months, things changed, in small ways but the banter never ceased. And for that, they were both grateful.


End file.
